Vautour
by Yosuke
Summary: Sebastian is a dedicated and loyal servant to the Earl Phantomhive, but underneath the wicked smile dwells the musings of a demon, hungry and patient. One-shot, rated for slightly sexual content.


Vautour  
Yosuke

AN: A spur-of-the-moment story deeply inspired by a beautiful dance I've watched a million times over.

This story is a secondary perspective of "Unyielding", quasi-partially a prequel. You'll still be able to read it and make sense of it, though; it's not dependent on the other story.

Black Butler not mine.

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I find your kind to be particularly irresistible. I've fed in the past upon the weakened state of such gullible creatures, such fragile and pitiful bodies with corrupted souls, tamed to modesty and virginal to evil. You exude life, sweet and tarnished, drawing the vulture that I am nearer to your presence. But you are different from the rest that I've had. While they are plain, uninteresting and predictable, you have presented yourself to be quite a story for me to build upon. You, who so eagerly throws away his own life to gain a power God denied you. You, who writhes in agony like a sinner in the flames, like an infant left for dead. You, who beholds such passion, such fury in your eyes that a mere glimpse could, and did, stop a beast like me in my procession if only but for a moment.

I am entranced by you. You climbed so high only to be ripped from the sky like a small bird plucked from its own life. You were locked away in a dark room and fed to moralistic cannibals. I saw your body, soiled with their smut and foul hands, draw in each agonizing breath precariously, resisting the pain they craved to hear, denying them your humiliation as you waited on the precipice of death, no hope in your eyes but a resistance to let life go. This was not the path for you. This was not how such an impassioned creature should be destroyed. No mortal would put you to unrestful eternal sleep like a mad dog. You would fall to a greater being's hands. You would fall to me.

Your voice, so lilting and soft, yet so angry and full of defiance, called to me, yet not specifically to me. I was the one to answer you, though you'd not yet known I existed. Before you, I held no form for mortals to lay eyes upon. They were not worth it. But you were. I would bear myself to you, but only in a manner that your haunting eyes could fathom.

When the first command fell from your lips, I could barely hold myself back. The promise of such a feast was almost worth betraying your trust, but I simply could not bring myself to destroy something like you so eagerly. You needed more of a chance, more than these horrid animals had given you. With a voice I created to help you digest my words, I offered you the deal, the Faustian contract. I needed only hear your command again, and the enticing promise of the meal of a lifetime was mine. I slaughtered your assailants, unmercifully and with a great pleasure I never ceased to enjoy.

Blood dried on the stone and curtains, and when you found the strength to stand, I presented myself to you in the fashion that would please you most. Little did you know that you were the one who had given me shape. I needed to be something you could trust and be in the presence of with no disdain or fear. Through your heart and will, I was shaped to be your late father's image. The voice I spoke to you with was a familiar one to you, one I'm sure you'd heard lull you to sleep with songs as a child. Your parents were gone now, and though I doubted you expected anyone to replace them, I could, at the least, stand guard over you, fragile, naive you.

Throughout the remainder of your life, as expectedly short and painful as it had been, my eyes never strayed from your presence, and my image never changed from what pleased you most. I was a dark shadow in the corner of your eye, never moving beyond what I had been commanded. I shifted to your will, as a puppet would move to its master. This, however, had become a laughable subject to me, as when one thought about it, despite how I would do your bidding, violent and careful chores, in the end I was to gain the prize, and had I not stepped forth that day, you would not be here to possess me as you had. In some truth, I could be called the puppeteer.

But you had possessed me. I was intoxicated by this strong soul, this undeniable fearsome will that moved the Earth around you as if you yourself were the core of the universe. An addiction, you'd become, one I could not see myself existing without. It was as if your soul had been created perfectly for me, and the beautiful shell that carried it, the vessel that was your body, was a tempting siren that denied me such a worldly pleasure as consuming your hateful spirit. I'd tasted your blood before, unbeknownst to you, and as the bouquet alone had lit my nerve endings on fire, the feel of your blood in me had given me new strength I had not known to exist. I'd felt more alive than when I'd first lain eyes on you. Once I had satisfied my need for a small taste, part of me suddenly desired more. Some horrid, ugly, human feeling, I presumed, had wanted more than what lay inside you. I felt that I needed your body, to shed the clothes you wore and taste, nay, rip into your skin, to break each part piece by piece and claim the vessel that you were in some unnecessary effort to quench my sexual desire. And when you lay, filled and empty at the same time, I would watch that beautiful life of yours drain from your eyes, and your radiant soul would belong to me finally.

However, this was a trivial desire. Once you were gone, I could have whatever I wanted. But then again, you would never be gone, would you? You would always exist to me, inside of me. The soul that I would consume would remain as an essence that would fill me always. I could be content with that. I could be content with you living forever, in some manner or another.

Sometimes, I stalked you at night. That's not to say I was treading somewhere forbidden to me, as the doors to your bedchamber were always open to me, but only at times you generally allowed. Once you had retired for the night and my errands had been tended to, having no need to invest my time in sleeping, I would, on occasion, return to your door and let myself in. You, of course, would be well asleep, allowing me a decent piece of the night to stand by your bedside and observe you. Some would call this pointless, but to me it was anything but. I'd learned many things about you just from watching you slumber.

For instance, you had a tendency to roll onto your stomach in your sleep. Often times, you'd clear the pillow and lay flat on the mattress. This was something I could not allow, as you would suffer an annoying crick in your neck the next morning, so I would gently pull the pillow back under your head.

You also seemed to suffer from horrible nightmares sometimes, though not too often. These dreams affected your mind deeply while you slept, and you would cry out weakly or utter a name of some relevance to you and your imaginary crisis. Most of the time, the name spoken was "Lizzy", which was an endearing thing to hear. To know you would never wed the girl you were destined to be with would pull at the heartstrings of any old sap, but to me it just reminded me that I was the primary reason it would never be for the two young lovebirds, and that one of those birds would be served for dinner soon.

Please pardon my distasteful and crude humor. I am simply an eager dog who hasn't been fed yet.

Seeing you sleep always sent a thrill down my body, as watching you so unguarded and chaste was a rare sight indeed. You always held such dominance in your stance, in your eyes, even in your very breath. You permeated the very minds of men around you and, with a will I had no doubt you were well aware of, you'd bend any person's desires to fit your needs. You were, in almost every capable sense of the word, a god. You held the world in your hands, and you lived proudly (yet with such a powerful shame deep inside you, as if you regretted having survived your ordeals at all). You were dignified, sometimes humble, unreasonably powerful, and thanks to me, nearly immortal. No man would kill this child, this godly child. It would take Hell itself to drag you to your grave.

So you can understand the subtle jolt of excitement I got when I could see you so defenseless, as if you had returned to being a mere mortal, as if your years of wisdom and maturity had yet to catch you. I could spend a whole night watching you fast asleep, but knowing all too well that I had other duties to attend to before the rest of the household awoke, I had to leave you far too early every morning to begin preparations for the day.

One could easily misunderstand my intentions, seeing my careful scrutiny of my master as some sort of misplaced affection. Sometimes I even laughed at myself for the way I handled you, as I could see a determined lover acting in the same regards I would. Make no mistake, while I am a being of many faces and names and forms, and could deceive just as easily as I could bow in respect to someone, this creature that I am, this beast of Hell is no more capable of love than you, Ciel Phantomhive, are capable of forgiveness. I could not possibly harbor any affection for any mortal or immortal, regardless of whatever spell they may have me under, such as you have. I would follow you to the ends of the earth, and die for you as many times as it would take until you utter a simple "That's enough", but do not have the misconception that it is out of what your kind call "the heart's desire".

You have captured my interest, and bound me to be your slave, and I do it with great enthusiasm and desire, but only in exchange for the most precious and priceless gift anyone could receive in return: the exquisite soul of Earl Phantomhive. I would have your life in my hands, a life filled with memories of pain and regret, despair and loneliness, passion and fury. I would keep with me forever your malice and power, a combination of things I could only show reverence to through praise and loyalty. To be honest, if you'd been born among the flames and darkness as I had, you'd be a creature of great intimidation. You could have outranked us all, and struck fear into our hearts. It was only the fact that you were mortal that kept me secure.

In short, I am chained to you. No power in this world will break my binds and my promise to help you and protect you, and that piece of the promise written in your eye is evidence of that. This is a need, a determination to keep you, but it is not "love". It is not "affection". It is pure, desperate, suffocating hunger.

You, on the other hand, were born from love, a deep and gentle emotion that so easily twists humans into such interesting things, but it is nothing at which I scoff. For if there had been no love, your parents would never have conceived such a great being, and for that I am thankful. You came into this world full of happiness and content, laughing and playing like any other child, and deeply rooted in the throne of love from your family and the ones you held most dear.

And then, through the horrors this world offered to tarnish your fate in such perverse ways, your happiness was stolen from you, and the love that had cradled you your whole life was ripped asunder. Thrown into the fires of pain and bondage, you were burnt so horribly by the darkness in man's souls that you would never recover, and just as you were to be sacrificed so unnecessarily, your life to be thrown away as if it could be considered so expendable, you called to me. I will never forget the sound of your voice that day, the way it crackled with fury and agony, and such underlying fear. I will never forget your pale skin on the stone, and the smell of your flesh burning under the branding iron. Or the way your nails scraped along the alter, or your brilliant eyes fighting back the treacherous tears.

I will also never forget the screams of those that died that day, and the pure joy it brought me to see them lay crushed at your feet. But most of all, and with the most enjoyment, I will never, never forget the icy gaze of your eyes, staring with harsh, pitiless contempt at their bodies, a scorn rooted so deep in you that had even one of them survived in the least, I could easily imagine your small, shaking hands lifting the largest, heaviest piece of debris you could manage in your condition, and bringing it down with gusto on their head, not a shred of remorse emanating from you.

Your eyes moved to me then, tentatively, unsure of my presence and trying to measure me up. After I'd proven myself to you, you graced me with a name. I suppose I should find it humorous that you'd named me after your late pet dog.

Not a day goes by that I don't think about the things that have happened, the things you've been through... but I could never imagine another life, an alternate reality, where all the twisted, horrible pains you've suffered never happened. It's impossible. I would never dream of not being here with you, watching you and protecting you. And truth be told, even if, in this alternate reality I've mentioned, there was a way for me to still be next to you, to serve you regardless of whether or not you would hand your soul over to me as my reward, I still would not live that life. Because there would be no joy in that life for me, to see the Earl Ciel Phantomhive without sorrow etched in his soul, all happiness wrenched from him and that dark, painful reminder of his past burnt into his skin, the beautiful, milky white flesh marred with such a distasteful scar. I would not bear to see you as such, for their is no beauty in this boy if he is not jaded. You would not be you, and that would be a stranger to me, uninteresting and imperfect. This wretched child is flawless as he is, and I am thankful (though as vindictive as I am ordered to be) towards your assailants.

From the start to the end, there has been not a single unamusing moment. If I could relive it all again, I would, but only to know that my prize was waiting for me through the saddest departure I would ever dare to say I was a part of. But it cannot be done over again, as it has all ended now. I stand here in what is now your graveyard, your tomb, and my dining table, though I cannot say I am not saddened by your leaving. While I was nothing more than your butler, you were a dear treasure to me, not just your pain-riddled soul, but you, yourself. I will miss our talks and our outings together. I will miss serving you tea and listening to you complain about how the flavor was off. I will miss dressing you in the morning, and greeting Elizabeth when she comes to visit every so often. I will miss your uncaring gaze as well as your cruel smile.

I will miss the delicate mask constructed by your inner-defenses against your enemies, and the vulnerable, lost child underneath. I will miss you, Ciel Phantomhive.

I find no superficial joy in this moment, and I do not pretend to be pleased with myself for having ended the life of something so brilliant, but the laws of my kind cannot be broken, lest a more horrifying punishment await you were you to deny me your magnificent soul, or I were to deny you the end you so desired. I can no longer feel the sadistic rush to pry your life from you as I had wanted so badly to do before. There is no more carnal need or desire for unholy sexual fulfillment, nor do I wish to see you writhing and crying for me, to make it all end if only to escape the torture and humility. Your blood intrigues me no further. All I can say now is that I wished we hadn't ended our enemy's life so soon, so that our time together could be prolonged.

As I stand over your lifeless body, splayed out on the stone bench, face relaxed in your deep, eternal sleep, I find myself just as enchanted by you as though you slept in your bed, ready to be possessed by dreams or nightmares. I wish to say that you were finally free at last, free from the life of horrors and lost love you have had to experience, but I cannot. For while you are indeed free of the hands of your assailants and their terrifying memories, and free of any future concerns that could have happened to any average child or brilliant count, you are not free from imprisonment. Your soul stays with me now, once again locked in a cage, the cage of my body, where you will remain forever as a part of me. But I will not torture you and condemn you as your previous cages have. I will keep you safe, and you will sleep peacefully. While the departure of your soul from your body may have been a painful moment, as you had requested with far more bravery than I had ever seen you display before, there will be no more pain now. It is over now, Ciel Phantomhive. Rest well, for you are mine now.

Oh, yes, and thanks for the meal. It was delicious.

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Ze end.

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AN: Wow, I finally made a short-story short. Most of my fanfics are a minimum of ten pages long. This one's at about four or five. I actually surprised myself. That's new.

Please review. Reviews are delicious.


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